In Vienna by the Danube

Kings hold revel, gallants meet.

Gay of old amid the gayest

Was the Duchess Marguerite.

In Vienna by the Danube

Feast and dance her youth beguil❜d.

Till that hour she never sorrow'd;
But from then she never smil'd.

'Mid the Savoy mountain valleys Far from town or haunt of man, Stands a lonely Church, unfinish'd, Which the Duchess Maud began:

Old, that Duchess stern began it;
In grey age, with palsied hands.
But she died as it was building,

And the Church unfinish'd stands;

Stands as erst the builders left it,

When she sunk into her grave.

Mountain greensward paves the chancel. Harebells flower in the nave.

"In my Castle all is sorrow,”

Said the Duchess Marguerite then. "Guide me, vassals, to the mountains! We will build the Church again.”—

Sandall'd palmers, faring homeward,
Austrian knights from Syria came.
"Austrian wanderers bring, O warders,
Homage to your Austrian dame."-

From the gate the warders answer'd; "Gone, O knights, is she you knew. Dead our Duke, and gone his Duchess.

Seek her at the Church of Brou."

Austrian knights and march-worn palmers

Climb the winding mountain way.

Reach the valley, where the Fabric
Rises higher day by day.

Stones are sawing, hammers ringing;
On the work the bright sun shines:

In the Savoy mountain meadows,

By the stream, below the pines.

On her palfrey white the Duchess
Sate and watch'd her working train;
Flemish carvers, Lombard gilders,

German masons, smiths from Spain.

Clad in black, on her white palfrey;

Her old architect beside

There they found her in the mountains,

Morn and noon and eventide.

L

1

There she sate, and watch'd the builders,

Till the Church was roof'd and done.

Last of all, the builders rear'd her

In the nave a tomb of stone.

On the tomb two Forms they sculptur'd,
Lifelike in the marble pale.

One, the Duke in helm and armour;
One, the Duchess in her veil,

Round the tomb the carv'd stone fret-work

Was at Easter tide put on.

Then the Duchess clos'd her labours;

And she died at the St. John.

THE CHURCH OF BROU.

II.

The Church.

UPON the glistening leaden roof

Of the new Pile, the sunlight shines.

The stream goes leaping by.

The hills are cloth'd with pines sun-proof.

Mid bright green fields, below the pines,

Stands the Church on high.

What Church is this, from men aloof?

'Tis the Church of Brou.